145. Great Expectations

Welcome back my little terrapins, my little midnight killers, my noon day sun mobsters… Yes welcome back to my world, a world of utter stuff and nonsense , I mean for Christ sake I don’t even know what’s real anymore! What the hell is going on ? Truth is Sage has driven me round the proverbial burning bush having me believe anything he puts forward in our pointless conversations ! Dickens is it ..? Bally Charles Dickens, he calls me a cad and a bounder Sage does!

Listen the point about all this is I have had my moments in life. I have been a liberal thruster at times a smoker of opium a worshiper of the dark side and yes it would be prudent to say that I am not too fussy when it comes to the holes that I have dug over the years! This however is no admission of guilt for I am a man who has always faced up to the realities of life and am always willing to take it on the chin so to speak !

To suggest that I would allow my offspring to fend for themselves as Sage has done is a vile sentiment and slander beyond the gates of Mordor. A dark feast nevertheless, and is something I will deny until my last breath is breathed.
Truth is, from the shadows I did all I could for Pip… I made sure he had all the opportunities that a boy of his stock deserves, some may say that is nepotism but I say no.. It is being a father , even if this father could not show his face a father I was! I sent the fucker hampers from Harrods on a monthly bases, i was philanthropic in my parenting.

I even had him a pair of bespoke hobnail boots made, fucker never wore them, moaned that they were too hardy for his feet! So point is Pip was a let down from the start , he wouldn’t have ever survived trench warfare.

The little fucker would have had his head blown off, all on account that his tin hat didn’t fit and he wasn’t wearing it when the shot was fired! Even then I was there for him, I managed to pull a few strings to get him away from front line war work and this enabled him to ponce about in high society London.

The point about all this is what the hell does Sage know or understand about parenting. “Nothing” I would cry from the dock, send him down, down for a long stretch of porridge and anal tampering! How dare Sage point out the speck of wood in my eye when he has a twig in his! His son Max is a pathetic individual, who can’t string a coherent sentence together without bursting into tears, the anxiety ridden little twerp ..!

Sage’s son is a pansy and he has the audacity to attack me, well I say “No”, I won’t have it . If Sage wants it out we shall duel at dawn. Pistols, swords, hands, or submission grappling. I’m a killer in all the fighting arts and Sage does not stand a bloody chance he will eat his words, I will make him.

I shall make him write them down on an A4 sheet of paper then stuff said paper down his over worked cake hole the twister that he is ! I will grapple him like I was the late great Helio Gracie and Sage was an amateur and that my friends is what he is a rank amateur …

I will twist Sage up into a ball then put him to sleep then I will lay his body down for all the world to see! All that said and I stand by what I have just said I feel that it is Charles Dickens who has slandered me , writing about my life like that, and not allowing me to preface the story with my own words….

Making me out to be a charlatan and I for one am sick to the eye teeth with all of it, I’m off on holiday to put my feet up before I really do something that Sage can’t talk his way out of!

Thank you my good people and we shall speak soon… Later is greater – baked potatoes ! Laters!